


Merry-Go-Round

by Naemi



Category: NCIS
Genre: Anal Sex, Come Feeding, Double Penetration, F/M, First Time, Friends With Extras, Light Dom/sub, Light/Partial Femmedom, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Delay, Pegging, Prompt Fic, Rimming, Smut, Voyeurism, angsty romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:05:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tim realizes that his co-workers' friendship comes with some extras, he wants his share.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dizilla](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dizilla).



> [set around season four]
> 
> Heavy on Tim and/or Ziva point of view/insight. Sorry, Tony :o)  
> 

 

The memory of how exactly they got here would be vague in the end, but the road definitely contained a whole lot of puppy eyes on Tim's side, always colliding hard with Tony's growls and some Go Fuck Yourself looks he kept giving him in return. Ziva watched, but didn't interfere, yet her mischievous grins were the icing on a cake that would turn out to be of the kind everyone went crazy for.

Through movie nights and after-work drinks, through bickering and banter, the three agents had developed a close relationship. After all, if you trusted someone with your life out in the field, you might as well trust that person on a more private level. More or less. Although Tim wasn't exactly happy about the role of the cute baby brother that Ziva and Tony put him into, it definitely held some undeniable advantages, such as getting what he wanted with a little less effort than under normal circumstances, for example.

But then, not much about them was quite _normal_ anyway.

When it first occurred to Tim that his friends had crossed the sibling-lines, he dismissed the thought with all vehemence he owned. It almost grossed him out a little. They weren't supposed to . . . break rule number twelve . . . even though dating didn't seem to be what happened there. His suspicion kept growing until it drove him crazy to sense sex in every look they exchanged, every word they spoke, every casual at-work touch.

He wasn't jealous.

But he was.

~ ~ ~

It was Ziva who laid out the rules for Tim.

The credits of The Apartment were still rolling when she nestled against his side, taking him by surprise; Tony was her usual pillow (and did they really believe they hid it well enough?).

“You know, Tim,” she started, her voice level, her words almost clenching his gut, because no, he wasn't Tim to her. He was McGee on most occasions, and being Tim usually indicated a favor she needed, eighty-six point nine percent of which were likely to get him in trouble.

Tony stood up, walking over to the window to face the starless winter night, but Ziva's voice called Tim's attention back to her.

“You know, Tim, there is something about you that is really hard to resist.”

He blinked slowly. “Huh?” So much for his eloquence.

Ziva laughed softly, resting a hand on his chest in rare display of affection. A sudden rush of anxiety almost made him brush it away, but he placed his own hand over hers instead.

“Like what?” Tim aimed for something smart to say, crinkling his nose with displeasure about his lack of success.

“Your heart is racing,” was Ziva's only reply, as if those words held the key to everything that mattered.

Maybe it did.

Tim remained silent. His eyes wandered to Tony, an unmoving figure, and Tim wondered if he actually wanted this to happen or if he'd just knuckled under the irresistible David charm—but then, that seemed a little too far off the typical DiNozzo way.

Tim heard himself utter a weak, “I know,” without having caught on to what she was actually saying.

“Good.” Ziva tilted his head back toward her so he met her darkened eyes. The TV flickered with white noise. She smiled, then moved, smoothly, to stand behind Tony. He turned around to face her.

A kiss, and Tony's eyes fixed on Tim.

White noise.

Tim swallowing hard.

Hands sneaking underneath her shirt.

Soft moaning, captured in another kiss, open-mouthed.

Tim's jeans getting a little too tight.

Hands.

Lips.

Fly.

Moans.

Zipper.

Phone.

White noise, and Gibbs, curt: “Party's over McGee.”

_How could he know? How could he—_

“Dead petty officer downtown. Movie night's gotta wait.”

Tim didn't bother to tell movie night was over anyway. He felt so crushed that Ziva's half-whispered, “Soon. I promise,” as she walked past him almost went unnoticed.

~ ~ ~

Days passed. Tim didn't prod her, didn’t approach her whatsoever. It was a bad idea anyway; friends with extras couldn't work _at work_ , let alone with Tony involved. Thus, Petty Officer Marsh being shot in the abdomen and left to die probably was, however undeniably gruesome a crime, the best thing that could have happened to their relationship.

A week into “the situation,” Tony snuck up on Tim (he didn't, actually, he wasn't even the least bit good at sneaking), and clapped him on the back, making Tim all but jump right out of his skin, a startled squeak on his lips. The hand wouldn't let go. It was warm, and just a bit sweaty, which wasn’t justifiable in the middle of January. Before Tim's mind could start processing that infinite loop, Tony's breath tickled down the side of his neck.

“Tonight at Ziva's, Probie.”

“It’s not Friday.”

“No. But you're gonna come.”

“I—” _have plans,_ Tim meant to say, but suddenly it clicked. The not-question in a husky whisper, the sweaty palm, the touch itself, it all made sense.

“Hope so.”

~ ~ ~

Tony answered the door. “You're late,” he said, grinning, perfectly aware that Tim was, in fact, twenty minutes early. “Frou-Frou is taking a shower.”

“That's probably the stupidest name you could ever call her.”

“I've called her worse, believe me.”

Tim was positive there must be a quick-witted reply at hand somewhere, but he couldn't bring himself to dig for it, so he simply headed towards the kitchen to grab a beer.

Tony followed him and stood in the doorframe. “Thought about chickening out?”

Looking at nothing and everything in the room, except Tony, Tim narrowed his eyes. “I have.” He shrugged. “Multiple times.”

“But now you're sure this is what you want?”

“Are you?”

Tony remained silent, such an uncommon reaction for him that Tim instantly sensed he was comfortable with the arrangement. If he weren't, there'd be a snarky comment or a bad joke, especially in the light of Tim's nervous confession. But here he stood, uncharacteristically serious about the whole situation for a change.

Tim shyly made eye contact.

Tony flashed a smirk—“I'd never dismiss a chance of putting you in your place, Probie”—and the moment of understanding was gone.

“Do not let him tease you, McGee.” Ziva squeezed past Tony. Water dripped from her hair, trailing silver lines down her bare shoulders. Wearing nothing but a towel, she looked more breathtaking than ever, but, of course, Tim had not much comparative data about her. He blinked, unable to un-focus from the steady rise and fall of her breasts. _Chest!_ He swallowed. _I'm not staring, Ziva_ —but, honest-to-God, staring was pretty much what he was here for, so to Hell with it.

“For all I have heard, you have got quite something to be jealous of. Tony is just afraid he might come off shorter.”

“Worse,” Tim corrected her automatically, blushing hard when he caught himself a heartbeat later.

“Same thing,” she replied cheerfully. Closing the space between them took only a half-step. Ziva's smile became mischievous. “What basis is there to the rumors?”

“What do you care?”

“Whether or not I am going to use my toys, I do not wish to keep them boxed as new. Is that how you say it?”

Tony snorted. “In McGee's case I'd say it's in the original packaging.”

His “Screw you, Tony,” stuck in Tim's throat, for Ziva reached out to check for herself. Even through two layers of clothing, her hand was pleasantly warm as she palmed his length, laughing throatily at the instant physical reaction.

How Tim managed not to flinch was beyond him, yet he mustered a challenging look, not even crumbling when Tony stepped up close enough to scout along with Ziva, his hand on top of hers.

“I thought you said no touching,” Tim forced out as evenly as his quickening breath allowed.

“I believe I also said 'unless I tell you so.' It was meant to apply to you. Exclusively.”

“Must have gotten a bit confused, then.”

“Apparently.” Ziva stood back, but Tony did not shift, and thus her behind ground into his crotch, eliciting a not-quite growl. She laughed again, with a deeply arousing edge to the sound, and tilted her head just enough so she could glance at the man behind her.

Tony ran a hand up the outside of her thigh. Ziva's laughter turned into a soft hiss, and Tim felt a twinge of his jealousy returning. Then he noticed, only out of the corner of his eye, how the fingertips vanished beneath the hem of the towel, how they snuck around to the inside and further up, until Ziva breathed out to him: “Show me, McGee,” and that was when his mind quit most of its service with an unhappy moan, yet a moan nonetheless.

Unable to avert his gaze from the lazy, cloth-covered movements of Tony's hand, Tim kicked off his shoes, considered and dismissed his socks, then unzipped and shoved his pants down in a smooth rush, boxers following swiftly. Although he definitely had nothing to hide, it still felt strange to be put on display like that, knowing without looking that two pairs of eyes were fixed on him, two smirks flashing at the sight of his hardening cock.

“Mmm, not bad. I think I like my new toy.”

Tony let out a grumble. Half-whispering into Ziva's ear, his caresses rolled a hushed curse over her lips. “Better not get used to it.”

“Oh, the only child doesn't want to share,” Tim deadpanned.

“Hush. If you are fighting, I will just leave you to yourselves.” Ziva's voice was surprisingly steady, but not without breathless arousal. She softly rocked her hips back against Tony, grasping the hem of Tim's shirt at the same time. “And I am positive both of you prefer the not-as-queer set-up.”

The men nodded agreement to that, although Tim didn't fail to notice that Tony hesitated, his lips curling into the shadow of a regretful smile.

“Good. Now, get that off as well.” Ziva tugged at the fabric between her fingers. “And while you do, tell me: how would you like having a taste of my pussy?”

Surprise almost made Tim strangle himself with his shirt. He succeeded in taking it off, but then he only stared at her, his throat so dry that not a word could emerge.

She trapped his eyes. “I take this as a positive reply,” she said, and when Tim managed to stutter a confirmation, she stilled Tony's hand with her own, bringing the other up to loosen the knot of the bath towel. It fell open, revealing perfect skin still moist from the shower.

Swallowing, Tim let his gaze wander from the swing of her collarbone to her breasts, small and firm, nipples hard, tempting, almost mocking. He blinked, trailed his eyes further downward, following the outline of her abs to drink in every detail of skin and muscle. His visual journey stopped just below the curve of her hipbone. Although the invitation was clear, it still carried the strange taste of violating Ziva's privacy. Tim had to shake his head twice to chase the thought away. He dared a glance down, past the heel of Tony's hand, along the curl of his fingers, unaware of the dreamy smile that lit up his face at the image. His cock hardened further, twitching with excitement as he watched Ziva guide Tony's hand up her front, and he received a view of the glistening wetness. Realization forced a whimper over his lips and flushed his cheeks.

“You should give him a taste, I suppose,” Ziva suggested, amusement dancing in her voice, as she let go of Tony and stepped aside, leaving an empty spot between the men.

A low rumbling growl accompanied Tony as he moved closer and nudged Tim's lips with his index finger, but Tim couldn't sort out who made the sound, not with his tongue flicking out and licking over the digit, then sucking it in unhesitatingly. He didn't care how far up the queer-scale that was (probably not too far, though); tasting Ziva on Tony was a powerful turn-on, and he wanted more. Damn it, he wanted the real deal, but like hell he'd ask for it. Instead, he sucked a second finger into his mouth, quite pleased when Tony failed at holding back a moan. He closed his eyes.

“How do you like that, Tim?” Ziva asked, her voice so close to his ear that it almost seemed to come from inside his head.

Tim purred in response, not stopping when she told him to touch himself, or when he heard a zipper going down, the rustle of fabric, and Tony groaning. He didn't stop until there was no trace of Ziva left on Tony's fingers, and even then, cracking his eyes open lazily to watch them kissing, with her mirroring Tim's own rhythm on Tony, he kept sucking.

Ziva broke the kiss, mocking, “When you are done practicing, you may want to take your front row seat in the bedroom.”

Tony snickered. “Yeah. And maybe some other time I _really_ let you suck me, McQueen,” he teased, hissing when Tim bit him lightly in response.

Tim shoved the hand away. “Yeah.” He nodded. “Maybe. In your wildest dreams.” He winked at Tony as he passed them by, surprised at how easy he found it to appear calm while everything inside him screamed for action.

Luckily, they didn't keep him waiting. Barely inside the bedroom, Tony stepped ahead of him, stopping him with a firm hand on his chest.

“I have to warn you. Little Frou-Frou here sometimes gets very . . . itchy . . . for a fast road to the showdown.”

“Shut up, Tony,” Ziva laughed. “You love it that way.”

“I do—” he narrowed his eyes, “—but we have a guest to please.”

“Since when do you worry about me?” Tim shifted to face Ziva, finding her kneeling on the bed already, biting her lower lip, legs opened wide enough to provide a nice view of her pussy—and of how she brushed a finger over her clit. He continued hastily before his voice failed him. “Where do you want me?”

Ziva grinned. She scanned the room, obviously enjoying his growing impatience. Only when Tony had settled behind her, stark naked now, nipping at her neck and reaching around to pinch a nipple, then walking his fingertips down and joining her own hand in her lap, did she finally end the farce.

“Down there,” she breathed, vaguely pointing at a fluffy rug in front of the bed. “Premium view.”

Tim glanced at the cushioned seat in the far corner, but she shook her head.

“The lady wants you on your knees, boy.”

“Ha ha, Tony.” Tim complied, growling low in his throat at the sight of two of Tony's fingers sliding in and out of Ziva almost rhythmically. Being so close and yet out of reach felt torturous; licking his lips only doubled the urge to join in the fun. Tim managed to reel himself back for now. There would be a better time for that. Maybe. After all, this whole show was set up for his entertainment, following rules he'd willingly, if a little absent-minded, agreed to, and he had the vague impression that if he screwed up, a next time would be out of the question.

There was nothing much Tim could do. Eyes glued to the scene, he grabbed his cock and started stroking along with Tony's pace. It drove him crazy. He felt entirely helpless, torn between aching need and overwhelming fascination.

Ziva looked down at him, and for a split second his heart somersaulted at the hope she'd pull him in.

“If you come before I do, I will have to handcuff you next time.”

He blinked, confused; he wasn't that close yet. “Won't happen,” he replied, his tone clipped and hoarse.

“It better not.”

Ziva moved beside Tony, causing him to withdraw and Tim to whimper with disappointment, or maybe with subconscious plea. She winked, and then she closed her lips around the tip of Tony's cock, making him throw back his head with a heavy moan. Tim watched her mouth slide lower, so slowly that he could by no means understand where Tony found the self-control not to buck up and take matters into his own . . . well, maybe hips in this case. He was positive he could not survive such sweet torture in this state of arousal, but the other man didn't move, didn't even bury his fingers in her hair or any of those reactions that just come so naturally. Maybe Tim was a bit overzealous. Maybe Tony was more focused. Maybe—

“Another taste, McGee?” Tony's voice barely faltered, although his lashes fluttered, and his breath came out shallow and quick.

Tim found his vocal chords denied him any reply other than a raspy, unintelligible sound, but he arched forward, his mouth open, eyes staring up at them, in a perfect display of humble acceptance. The pace of his strokes increased slightly, but other than that, he held still at two fingers brushing past his lips, held still through watching Ziva taking Tony in so deep that it was a definite obscenity. He didn't move until she released Tony's cock only to tell him, “It is okay,” but the allowance set him on fire.

The two of them sucked almost in unison. Tim, unable to look away from the sincere devotion Tony was granted, tried to mirror Ziva's every move, but found it hard to follow the lead, stumbling out of rhythm either with his mouth or his hand. He closed his eyes, letting the situation carry him away instead of striving to keep any kind of control.

“Hey. McGee.” Tony. Not really important.

Tim hummed, though, giving a hint as to acknowledging.

“McGee. Stop.”

He hummed once more, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He was getting close, _quite close,_ and he simply couldn't comply, aching for release.

Ziva stretched her arm out over the edge of the bed.

“Give me your hand.”

He did so, sobbing, because of the unfairness of her fingers closing around his wrist one by one. It was agonizing.

“I did not come yet, Tim.”

His eyes fluttered open halfway, vaguely catching Ziva, hands, and a condom, and Tony—involuntarily?—rocking his hips into her touch. Tim gasped around the fingers in his mouth, only then realizing he still kept them trapped. He looked up at his friend almost timidly, relieved to meet a smile.

Tim withdrew, stammering an apology.

“Wouldn't have thought you'd be such a sucker,” Tony mocked, the words depriving Tim's face of all color and yet making him smirk.

“And it is hot to see,” Ziva commented, looking as smug as she looked pleased. She pulled Tony in for a rough kiss, not letting go of Tim's wrist, but guiding his hand flat down onto the mattress.

“Don't pull a stunt with your right hand. Up here as well.”

Tim complied, feeling somewhat pathetic. His cock throbbed, demanding attention so sternly that it might as well be outright talking to him right now, peremptory tone and such. Laughter rose in his throat at the silliness of the idea. He turned it into a soft, begging, “I can't. Please.”

They didn't grant him any response, but he needed no more words. The sight of Tony directing Ziva into his lap with her hand guiding his cock inside her short-circuited Tim's mind in a most pleasant way.

Rocking hips, roaming hands, all of it hypnotizing, seemingly designed to rip into shreds what little was left of his self-control. He was vaguely aware he panted just as much as they did, moaned along, squirming in his uncomfortable position, yet without even blinking, barely shifting away.

He was so close— _so close, please_ —to them, to coming; Tim was positive he might just pass out if he had to endure this torturous, blissful aching for much longer, yet disobedience was not an option.

Fisting the comforter, he kept watching, watched as they changed their position to spooning, mindlessly enjoying the clear view of the in-and-out, sometimes framed by fingers, hers, his, touching he could not always tell where or what exactly. He watched as they rearranged again, Ziva on all fours, digging her hand into Tim's hair as Tony fucked her from behind. Tim could only imagine the willpower it took her not to scream out her lust, could tell by how she clenched her jaw, bit her lip, and by how hard she jerked his head back. It hurt. It turned him on even more.

“If I sucked you now,” she panted out, each syllable an extension of Tony's thrusts, “how long would you last?”

The question alone almost made him come. Tim's eyes crossed, and he found it impossible to voice an answer, the less so when Tony announced, growling, that he was, “Right behind you, buddy.”

Tim wondered how close Ziva was to coming, and how in all Hell he was supposed to live through this, to wait just one more damned second. His hand twitched, but she grabbed his wrist, holding him in place.

“Ziva, please.” Tim was surprised the words came out, however feeble.

“Not yet.”

“I can't—please!”

She let go of him, but shook her head. “Me first,” she insisted. Her voice was so slurred that he barely understood her. Ziva stretched a little more until she could nuzzle her cheek against the back of his hand. “Almost.”

“Goddammit, Tony, fucking get her there!”

The two of them chuckled, but Tim was past finding it amusing. He found it nearly humiliating. One touch, one single damned touch would suffice now, and of course he could just ignore Ziva's command—but some part of him that he had not known to exist still was excited, bouncing with joy at this fairly odd level of sexual distress.

Tim squeezed his eyes shut in the attempt to hold back tears of sheer frustration, hoping they'd let him escape the scene, but hoping in vain.

“Look . . . at me. I want you to . . . to see . . .” Ziva lost her voice, but she didn't fail to open Tim's eyes one last time.

_Let go. Let go. Let go._

A silent mantra while Tim memorized every facet of her beauty. The flush of her cheeks. Her parted lips, red and full, kissable. Fluttering lashes, half hiding the endless darkness that was her eyes. The shivers running all over her body as Tony tilted her head back, slamming into her so hard that the whole bed shook from the force.

To see her face as she came was so intoxicating that Tim, lost in her staccato of moans, followed her straight, no touch needed, nothing else necessary but the sweet bliss that rocked her in waves, spreading to him through the spark of a single, repeated word: “Now.”

Tim failed to notice Ziva kissing his hand, Tony crying out as he followed them a mere minute later; he wasn't aware of his tears, could not explain them. There was nothing left but consuming heat, blinding, crushing, and a dizziness that he connected with too much wine, yet not with sex. It was not unpleasant, but it disconnected him completely from the outside world.

He didn't know how much time passed until Tony's voice broke through his mind, but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes.

“Come on up, Tim. This can't be comfortable anymore.”

“Never was,” he replied weakly. “Can't move.”

“Yes, you can.”

Tim shook his head. All he wanted was just another moment of rest, only until his heart was put back in its place instead of pounding in his head.

~ ~ ~

Tim woke up to find himself nestled against Ziva's back. On her other side, his arm wrapped around her waist and fingers softly brushing against Tim's hipbone, lay Tony. The room was dark and quiet.

Deeply contented, he snuggled up even closer, not minding the shift of Tony's touch. He was already on the edge of falling asleep again.

_This is a good thing. It's really . . . really . . ._


	2. Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High flying adored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits to Moit! If I wasn't already married to her, I'd throw myself at her feet. Thank God I don't have to; I'm too old for that kind of stunt.

The rest of January passed without any private moments except for one very quiet, almost awkward movie night.

Come February, they talked about _that night_ for the first time. Riding the elevator down to the parking garage together, Tony brought up the subject. It was nothing more than a casual remark, but it was enough that they found themselves at Ziva's place shortly afterwards, carefully feeling their way into the matter.

That night, it happened again.

And again, two weeks later.

It kept happening, randomly at first, but quickly becoming a weekly event. Ziva had to handcuff Tim thrice.

The pattern itself did not change noticeably, but by the first week of May, Tim's hands, and hands only, had general allowance to touch Ziva anywhere above the waistline. Technically, he could touch Tony any way he wanted, and sometimes, when Tim caught those hazel eyes staring at him, he thought he should. Yet, he was afraid. If he misinterpreted those looks, he might get himself into unnecessary trouble. Tony never asked for anything, either. Other than the finger-sucking and occasional after-sex cuddling, their queer-o-meter stayed around zero.

And then, one random morning in June paved the way for new questionable levels of their triangle that, in its current state, already started to conflict with their every day routine.

~ ~ ~

Ziva was annoyed. It was stupid early, and she'd skipped her daily run in favor of a wank that, born out of frustration, had gotten her nowhere. Snippets of her conversation with Tony just the night before had kept intruding.

_I don't like it, Ziva. Not at all._

_Why not?_

Ziva had rolled to her side, imagining Tim's intense stare on her.

_You are a hypocrite, Tony, but fortunately, you know it._

It had not helped. Nothing had helped.

_Are you mad at me?_

No.

_I do not know._

No, she wasn't exactly mad at him. She was disappointed.

“Ziva? Hey, Ziva. Are you all right?”

She blinked her eyes up the figure in front of her, confused to find herself at work. “Yes, McGee. I am fine.”

“Sure?”

“What lets you doubt it?”

Tim held up a stack of paper, shrugging. “You made more than a hundred copies of a blank page.”

For a split second, she simply stared at his hand, unaware that she licked her lips. “It is nothing.” She left him behind, knowing he followed her with his eyes, possibly a little intimidated, definitely insecure. It was almost funny how much more shy he appeared in public ever since he had opened up in private, but she liked him that way, stammering and blushing. It was baby-sweet, although she knew better than to tell him.

She sat down at her desk, but the rush of heat, remnant of the morning's unsuccessful session, only worsened. It would be a long day. _Long, hard . . . hard . . . Oh goodness!_ The familiar, undeniable tickle refused to go anywhere, crawling all over her like a lover's caress, desperate to receive a voice.

Ziva knew Tony sometimes snuck into the restroom for a little fun with himself. She was positive Tim had done so too, and yet, simply thinking about sinking that low made her angry. An infinite loop. A paradox. An infinite paradox on a boring morning, and Tim walked past her, his crotch nearly eye-level. She groaned with frustration, snapping at his raised eyebrow: “If you ask me again, you will regret it.”

He heeded the warning.

~ ~ ~

It wasn't lunchtime that Ziva went to face the truth. The ladies' room was empty, but that was a very lucky coincidence; someone always had to check her make-up. Ziva locked herself in a stall. _Pathetic._

She was determined, though, to aim at the quickest orgasm possible. Closing her eyes, she imagined Tony's hands, a trigger that usually worked well.

Not today.

She was still too upset. Thus, she added Tim into the mix, first pretending they were taking turns, then picturing how they were all over her at the same time—hands, everywhere, lips, everywhere . . . she came quickly and silently.

The idea couldn't be scrubbed out of her head as easily as she could wash off her own scent.

Ziva returned to her desk. It took her thirteen minutes to formulate the email to her satisfaction, and only another five seconds to hear it ping up in Tim's inbox. The look on his face was priceless.

“Got something there, McGee?”

He stared at Gibbs, repeatedly opening and closing his mouth without finding his voice.

“What?”

“Private,” he finally rasped out. “Just a silly joke. Caught me off guard.”

Gibbs grunted a reprimand, and Tim nodded hastily, his eyes darting in Ziva's direction.

Seven minutes later, he started typing his reply.

~ ~ ~

Tim kneeled in his usual spot, watching with great delight as Tony dipped his tongue into Ziva's slit. The angle left a good deal of the action to his imagination, but experience had taught them he didn't necessarily need full sight to get all fired up.

Everything felt a little lazy tonight; working a case for ten days straight had left them exhausted. An air of tenderness replaced their usual desperate ache and grim control, creating an intimacy beyond the urgency of stripping down and satisfying—or denying—basic needs.

 _Tonight is perfect,_ Ziva thought, almost losing the idea as Tony gently sucked at her clit in the one way he _knew_ could get her off in a blink. She tilted his head up, chuckling at the grumpy sound he gave.

“Please. Let me have it,” she purred, ghosting her lips over Tony's to capture any possible objection he might make. His eyes darkened, lashes fluttering briefly, telling her he caught it. Ziva held her breath for the split second it took until he shifted to her side, giving the tiniest of nods.

“You won't stop trying, will you?”

Her dark hair danced with the movement of shaking her head, curls framing pink cheeks and parted lips.

Tony brushed a dangling strand behind her ear. “Okay. Well, not really. But okay.”

Ziva ran her fingers along the side of his face. She knew it was risky, likely to catapult them straight into disaster, but the butterflies tickling her all over whispered irresistible promises, and she kissed them on to Tony's mouth. When they broke, an eternity later, she moved to face Tim, and Tony slid his arm around her waist, holding her close to him, as though he needed to showcase his right of possession.

“I would like you to join us, Tim.”

The words lit up his face with the soft glow of awed anticipation. He looked so much younger than he was. Like a cute, eager puppy. Ziva smiled at the thought, and likewise at the speed with which he was on the bed with them.

The closeness of his warmth was a caress in itself. Ziva trailed her fingertips along the line of his jawbone, down, following the outlines of his torso. He shivered under her touch, and a deeply happy sigh escaped her lips, only inches from Tim's. She saw the question in his bright green eyes, the spark of golden plea, and her heart wanted to embrace him, but then Tony pressed himself harder against her, and she knew she shouldn't. She kissed Tim on the forehead instead, despising the gesture.

“I am sorry,” she said, and she truly was, but it did not feel right to do; not just yet.

His lashes hid his disappointment. “It's okay. I understand.”

Ziva managed a smile, cracking around the edges at first, but growing firmer as he slowly returned it.

“What do you want?” he asked, although he knew.

“Whatever the two of you want. I will surrender. Fully.”

The men exchanged a look, searching, assessing. It lasted a lifetime.

“Oh for crying out loud. Do you need written invitations? Should I draw a map where to put your cocks?”

“We'll figure it out, baby,” Tony replied in a very bad film noir imitation.

“You better.” Her lips curled into a mischievous grin. She ground her hips back against him, pleased at how his groan tickled her neck. He reached up to knead one of her tits, and then Tim closed that last inch between them, latched his mouth onto the nipple peeking through Tony's fingers, sucking down hard, beautifully possessive. She buried her fingers in his silky hair, unsure of what she wanted to do. The suck became a bite, Tony's thigh nudged her open, and she wrapped her uppermost leg around Tim's, pulling him in closer. The tip of his cock brushed against her pubis, no more than a tickle, but he reflexively thrust into the contact.

There was no patience left in Ziva. For all she cared, the few days she'd spent fantasizing about this equaled eternity. She canted her hips, sliding her pussy over him, but suddenly, Tony palmed her completely, literally blocking Tim out. Two fingers framed her clit, tugging lightly, Tim rubbed himself against them, and that was, _thank you,_ the first—albeit small—climax of the night, emerging along with a flood of Hebrew words that made little sense, yet they just rolled over Ziva's tongue so smoothly when her English forfeited.

She heard Tony speak, but could hardly sort out what happened around her apart from Tim growling, moving, and then he was gone, making _her_ growl. He didn't seem to come back, or maybe she missed it, for Tony flipped her onto her belly, and the next thing she knew for sure, if only by means of _hotwethot,_ was that he started to tongue her while the waves of her orgasm were still rocking her ashore.

He spread her cheeks wide, she whimpered softly, but with her mind halfway out the door, managing even that much seemed an impossibility. The mattress shifted; Tim was back by her side. His lips lit a fire where they touched, all over her, lips and tongue and fingertips and _hot, I feel so hot,_ sweat glued her hair to her neck and shoulders.

Ziva squirmed, tossing her head to the side. She reached out, maybe for support, probably for Tim, but whichever it might have been, her arms were grabbed, held down behind her back. Before she could think of struggling free, she found herself kneeling, and she couldn’t remember why. Tony nipped at her neck, and, oh, “Oh!” Tim mirrored it, both men in perfect unison, not only with their lips, but with their hands as well, and there was no deciding which was better, Tim fingering her pussy or Tony stretching her ass. The combination brought her remaining brain cells to a standstill.

“How's that, Peaches? Likey?”

If she could have bitched—or elbowed Tony in the face—she would have. Instead, she cussed, heavily, realizing only then that she was completely out of breath.

There was an odd sound, and Ziva's head turned on impulse. Her eyes widened at seeing Tim tearing a condom wrapper open with his teeth. He didn't look young anymore, that image was long gone, replaced by pure sex, and nothing but.

Ziva purred, unaware that she had done so, and Tony snickered against her. She let herself be steered, protesting only when the fingers withdrew, but then she was straddling Tim, was guided down on his cock, big and hard and filling her so, so perfectly that she couldn't stop her mouth from saying it. She squeezed down on him, he met her halfway, and this time, she couldn't deny Tim a kiss, or rather many, many kisses, demanding, desperate, his lips and tongue filling her with as much bliss as his cock did.

Tony, sweet, loving Tony, (How could she have forgotten about him?) ran a hand up her spine, cooling her skin. “You good, Peaches?”

She hummed a confirmation into Tim's mouth, broke free just to tease, “What takes you so long?” but it was so garbled that Tony didn't even dignify it with a reply.

Not with any other than lining up his cock, anyway. For the fraction of a heartbeat, the world stood completely still, and then Ziva couldn't possibly wait any longer without literally melting away. Fortunately, Tony must have thought the same, for he pushed in, agonizingly slow, and the effect was tantamount to a 7.9 on the Richter scale.

Ziva's eyes crossed and she slumped down on Tim, incapable of processing the intensity of total conquest, so tremendously wonderful that there was no swearword in the world good enough to even scratch the surface of that feeling. Tim trembled beneath her, jerked up the tiniest bit and hissed, aware he mustn't lose control, but obviously struggling. Inch by wonderful inch stretched her, and her muscles tightened on reflex, triggering a symphony of moans, all full to bursting with utter pleasure.

By the time Tony was all the way inside her, Ziva was writhing, cussing, yelling, all at random, so far gone that there couldn't be any rescue. He stilled, buried his fingers in her sweaty hair, brushing her neck free, and Tim's hand met him there, just resting.

“Tony, please,” he panted out feebly. Ziva seconded it mindlessly, and Tony let his eyes flutter closed. He set a slow pace, but it was surely enough to take the trio another few steps toward insanity. Stretch, fill, muscles contracting randomly, cocks rubbing together but not. A spring tide of intensity, fervency, sunny bright, consuming, aching, but good, so good, snapping minds as easily as fingers snapping matches.

Tim adjusted, and this was it. This catapulted them to Hell and straight back.

Ziva found herself caught, unaware, in an encore of orgasms, one chasing after the other so smoothly that they qualified as one epic meltdown, and still, she didn't want it to end, although she was oversensitive to the point of torment.

Tony pushed her down, pressed the three bodies together like one, nuzzling his forehead into her neck, and Tim's hand snuck over, shaky fingers running through his hair just before he came, soundless.

“Oh fuck, Tim, you can't just—oh fuck,” Tony stammered, so close himself, the pulsing of Tim's cock adding the last layer of, _“Holymothermary!”_ Ziva squeezed so tight, milked him, on absolute autopilot, and he bit her shoulder hard, scraping his orgasm into her skin.

For a long time, there was nothing. Then, there was movement. There were kisses. Sweet whispered words.

It was the first evening spent together that Tim would not wake up in the middle of the night.

~ ~ ~

The body of Lieutenant Jonathan Cooper was found in a motel room just off Richmond Highway, near Belle Haven Park. The victim was left naked, stabbed thrice, right into his heart, a clear signature of personal motivation. Tony immediately suspected the wife, only that there was none. There wasn't a girlfriend, either, or any other relationship that appeared noteworthy at first glance. The Lieutenant had returned from an assignment overseas only five days earlier, and checked in to the motel the day of his death.

There was no usable lead to start with.


	3. Stumble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is always one more line to cross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kindly reminding you that I am a slasher at heart. You would have figured out anyway.

“Might have found something, Boss.”

“On the screen, McGee.”

The team gathered around as Tim filled them in. “I checked the Lieutenant's phone records. He's been talking to the same person daily ever since his return. And not just briefly. He'd call at about eight-thirty in the morning, and hang up three minutes to nine exactly. Every day. He didn't use his own cell, so I missed it at first, but then Abby hinted me at—”

“Who, McGee?”

“Um, yeah. Former Petty Officer Matthew Reyes, thirty-four, married, lives in Mt. Vernon, Virginia.” A click displayed his driver's license, followed by his wife's. “He left the Navy eight years ago. Cooper and Reyes have been inseparable ever since high school and through basic training. Both records are clean except for this one time when they got into a fistfight. With one another. They wouldn't say what the fight was about. They broke up over the matter, and that's about as exciting as it gets.”

“And after years, they just . . . come together again?” Ziva frowned. “That is very hard to believe.”

“Told you. It's the wife. Must be.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Tim pressed his lips into a tight line, with the tiniest of twitches around the edges. “According to her medical reports, Mrs. Reyes was in the hospital for a week, released the morning of Cooper's death.”

“What she got, McGee?”

“A baby. And also a paternity test.”

Tony's expression exploded so fast that it was hard to keep track of the individual stages of emotions. 

“O-oh. Come on, McBullshit Me Not. You _got_ to be kidding.”

“Negative. Mrs. Reyes gave birth to a baby boy last Friday. Had some minor complications to be monitored. Now guess at what time Reyes would usually come in to see them?”

“Good job. Talk to them. Take DiNozzo with you.”

“Time for some cuteness overload.”

Tim rolled his eyes hard enough that it hurt.

~ ~ ~

They had not meant to spend that night together, but none of them complained when they found themselves a sweetly entangled mess of caresses and moans, drifting on without any apparent aim to achieve.

Yet, with Tim's devotion for her fingers between his full, kissable lips, Ziva became fidgety. There was so much more she wanted to explore, something special he had agreed to give, and as his gentle licks turned into greedy sucking, she decided the timing was as good as any.

“Do you remember your promise?”

He didn't hesitate to nod, eyes crystal clear and sparkling.

There was movement behind her, and, glancing back, she found Tony propped up on one elbow.

“What are you up to, Mooky?”

“Can you please slap his head for me?”

Tim chuckled heartily as he bent over Ziva to do as he was told.

Tony did not even flinch. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Yes, thank you, Tim,” Ziva seconded. “And now, how about you show him what you have been practicing?”

Tony shot them questioning looks as Ziva slid up to the bed head, allowing Tim to take her place in the middle.

“Gotta ask again, what are you up to?” Despite sounding suspicious, Tony let himself be maneuvered to his back. A single, voiceless, “Oh,” was all he managed when Tim nipped at his hipbone and then trailed his mouth down from there. 

This being unknown territory for Tim made it so much more special, stealing Ziva's breath at the first time his tongue ever tasted cock. She couldn't help a grin when he drew back the next moment, licking his lips, his mind probably auto-piloting a database search for comparison. 

“Do you like it?”

“Not sure yet,” he replied earnestly, amusing her even more, and Tony couldn't hold back a chuckle of his own.

“Got nothing to—” he started, but then Tim was back on him, and he couldn't sort out what exactly he did to his cock, but it definitely involved a lot of that sucking-technique he used on his fingers, and it felt nice, no, scratch it, it felt _fucking good,_ good enough for Tony to pant out Tim's name with pleasured surprise.

Ziva watched with her lips parted, breath coming out hushed and uneven. The flush on Tim's cheeks, deepening by the second, was gorgeous. He had his eyes closed, brow furrowed slightly with concentration. If he'd looked young the other night, this impression was now doubled. She wished she could take a picture, would have, if there were a camera at hand, but as it was, she memorized every detail. When she found the image stored away safely in her heart, she whispered Tim's name.

He hummed low in his throat, making Tony hiss and utter something that ended with, “make a lot of money.”

“Are you okay with it?” Ziva asked, her warm hands drawing circles over the small of Tim's back and slowly down his backside.

“Yeah,” he barely whispered, his breath over the tip of Tony's cock causing the man to buck up his hips in desperate want for more. He nudged Tim back down, groaning when those soft lips closed around him again.

Ziva took her time, ensuring Tim felt safe all through it. She eased him up completely, first his mind, and only then his body, with ghostly kisses and the gentlest of fingertips, retreating immediately when he backed away, until he had to give up his efforts on Tony, incapable of doing more than rest his face against the man's thigh, every breath a whimper, every movement helpless.

Tony played along silently, taking care of his needs just as sweetly as Ziva did, and when the first, well-lubed digit entered Tim, the only sign of a little discomfort was a soft hiss. Tony twined his fingers with Tim's, and that alone seemed to help. He relaxed, and Ziva advanced, very carefully, very gentle.

It almost blew her mind to watch Tim adjust, then melt away under her hand, and she stored that set of pictures along with the blowjob ones. His panting. A somewhat disbelieving moan when she hit his prostate, and the mighty tremble arching his back. How he asked for more, almost shyly. And to complete the image: Tony, brushing his hair out of his face, whispering sweet nothings.

The helpless, whimpering disarray of sweaty flesh that Tim had turned into was the most enchanting thing Ziva had ever, _ever,_ seen in her whole life. She looked at him in awe, coming close to think she might . . . love him.

It felt right.

“Ziva?” Tim panted out feebly, and her mind leapt back to clarity.

“Yes, Honey?”

Tony cocked an eyebrow. She dismissed his surprise with a subtle shake of the head.

_It feels right._

“I'm . . . if you—” Tim's voice failed him, dying in another moan.

“Do not worry.”

“. . . promised . . .”

“It's okay,” Tony said softly. “Whatever you promised, it's okay. Just let go.”

Ziva took a mental note to remind him that it was not his decision to make, yet she must grant him his empathy. After all, he had given up on his own excitement in favor of Tim's, and maybe even close to the finish line.

Tim shook his head. 

Ziva caught Tony's eyes. _Tell him,_ she mouthed, and he understood.

He shifted just enough so he could whisper right into Tim's ear, “Come for us, buddy. Please. Come for us.”

Tim's eyes fluttered open, then they crossed, and his body answered the request, almost violently. If it felt half as intense as it looked, then Ziva couldn't tell how he managed not to pass out.

While that was not the case, Tim obviously didn't have enough energy, nor enthusiasm, left for moving at all. He let himself be stretched out and pulled up to rest his head against Tony's chest, purring softly when Ziva framed him from behind, covering the nape of his neck and the back of his head with soft little kisses, and he made no objection whatsoever to two pairs of hands fondling him through his afterglow.

“Can't believe it,” he said after a while, the words drawled from exhaustion. “Got really unconventional ways to make me come.”

“At your service.”

“I screwed up, didn't I?”

“No, you did not.”

“But—”

“There is plenty of time. Not just tonight.”

Tim sighed, a content sound, and nuzzled closer into her embrace. “I'm good to go. In a minute.”

Ziva's laughter was as clear as a bell, getting a hiccuped edge at Tony's very confused, yet so intrigued face.

“Someone gonna fill me in soon or is this a private party you've got going on?” He sounded a little too casual, even by his own standards.

“Oh, you will love what is coming up next.”

“Well, does it include me coming? Because I had a real _hard_ time watching McPanting go to waste.”

Tim snickered. “I can still feel that, Tony.”

“I'm glad you're taking notice. Would not mind you taking care again.”

“I guess I could, but . . . that wasn't exactly the plan . . .”

Growling, Tony pushed himself up into a sitting position, ignoring Tim's complaint at the loss of contact. “I hate secrets,” he stated, not yet annoyed, but with a definite edge to his voice. “I don't want any secrets in this bedroom. Can we agree on that?”

“We could, but that means no surprises,” Ziva pointed out.

“I don't want surprises.”

“Well, what do you want, then?”

“To fuck you?”

Ziva cocked her head to the side, narrowed her eyes and, cheerfully, said, “I am glad you are asking. The answer is no.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Really? No?”

Tim squirmed, trying to get away from what appeared to turn into a fight, but Ziva held him in place.

“No,” she repeated once more, adding, “Unless you have changed your mind, Tim?”

“I haven't,” he replied firmly, an unsteady breath the only indicator of his insecurity.

“Very well. Ask for it.”

Taking another breath, Tim cast his eyes down before finding the courage to fix his gaze on Tony, receiving a quizzical look.

“Will you fuck me?”

Tony's eyes widened instantly. His mouth shot open, only to let a groan escape.

“Please?”

Instead of a voiced reply, Tony flung Tim to his back, eliciting a surprised squeal, and without further ado, he kissed him, a little rough, but Tim let it happen, and kissed him right back.

The sight sent butterflies fluttering up along Ziva's spine, making her moan. She leaned in, demanding her share, indulging in the three-way fight for attention for a heartbeat. One of her hands snuck into Tony's hair, pulling him away, but he mirrored it, and they ended up in an almost ravishing kiss of their own. Tim attempted to get back in the game, found they held him down with firm hands, and huffed out a frustrated growl.

Tony knuckled under, let Ziva direct his head down, and Tim bucked up at the tongue dipping into his belly button, trailing further south from there. The first thing in reach for him was Ziva's thigh, and he dug his fingers into her as Tony started stroking and licking him back to hardness.

A moment later, Ziva moved away, and Tony took the chance to hoarsely ask, “What's the catch?” before Tim's hand in his hair, replacing hers, pulled him back down impatiently. Tony did him the favor of swirling his tongue over the tip of his cock, smiling at the vulgar cussing it caused.

“The catch is,” Ziva explained calmly, presenting two condoms, “that it is a two-way party. Since I am having a good day, it is your choice as to who gets to fuck whom.”

“You naughty thing, you,” Tony rasped out. He hesitated, then he snatched only one of the rubbers out of her hand. “Sorry, McSweet,” he added quickly as he got aware of how disappointment crumbled Tim's face. A tinge of guilt knotted his gut. “Just not . . . not tonight.”

“It's okay, I guess. It shouldn't matter.”

Lacking a sufficient answer, Tony brushed his lips over Tim's, the only comfort he could think to offer. Tim sighed against him and pulled him in for a proper kiss that was granted immediately.

“It's okay,” he repeated softly.

Ziva couldn't tell what exactly about this scene stung her, yet as satisfying as it was to see her guys all snugly together, she couldn't fight back the urge to interfere, and her words came out a little too harsh.

“Do not keep me waiting.”

Tim flinched because of the sudden edge to her voice, but it got him whispering a humble apology.

The men sat up in one smooth movement, their lips only inches apart, but however much either of them might have felt like kissing, they did not.

“Turn around,” Tony demanded in a clipped tone, yet what appeared to be anger was not directed at Tim, and they all knew, were all equally surprised Ziva let him get away with it.

Tim hesitated, watched as Tony tore the condom wrapper open, almost fumbling, and then Ziva nudged him, guiding him until he found himself on his knees with his head buried in the pillow and his ass up in unequivocal invitation. He heard himself purr at her thumbing into his cleft and pushing inside him again, not quite unceremoniously, but with only one definite goal. He was relaxed, though. As much as he could be.

Ziva withdrew to search for the bottle of lube she had carelessly dropped to the floor earlier. Movement behind her made her freeze, then turn her head to see Tony spreading Tim's cheeks with both hands to run his tongue down the other man’s cleft, over his balls and back up again. Twice. And again. Tim's hoarse stutter of, “Fuck, fuck, oh God!” was so full of amazement that it instantly got her pussy pulsing. Fuck indeed. She pressed her legs together tightly and reached for the bottle.

After a moment's hesitation, she jerked Tony's head back, but his challenging look made her push him back down wordlessly, fingernails digging into his scalp. If that was what he wanted, fine. He could have it. She did not let him retreat until Tim started begging for it stop, panting so hard that he seemed close to hyperventilation. He was sweaty all over, writhing away from the pleasure, yet at the same time pushing back against it, fully helpless to the sensation.

It was a little funny to see. Most of all, though, it was hot, completely, mind-twistingly hot.

Ziva let go.

Tony only flashed her a shark-like grin before refocusing on Tim, and Tim alone. “You want out?”

“Hell no!”

“Good.” Tony bent down, kissing the small of his back. “Because I really want in.”

Whatever tension there had been between Ziva and Tony died in the joint laughter.

When Tony lined up his cock and started pushing in, Ziva felt as if he would take her instead. She tried to chase away this silly flash of empathy, but it did not yield, would even grow as Tim whimpered with discomfort, squirmed away, only to be pulled back by his hips.

“Hurts,” he breathed a little miserable, and Tony stilled, running a soothing hand up his spine.

“I know. Relax.”

“Gimme a sec.”

Ziva added her own caressing fingertips, up Tim's arm and over his shoulders, from the side of his neck up along his cheekbone. “This is beautiful, Tim,” she but purred, “You are so beautiful,” and Tony seconded it.

Tim managed a cracking smile. “Attempt acknowledged. I'm okay.”

“Remember that you have a safe word.”

“I'm okay.”

She couldn't tell whether he was stubborn or sincere, but it was not up to her to question his motives.

There was no need to signal Tony to keep going. He understood well enough, complied although the doubt was in his eyes. How ever much careful he was, Tim had to ask him to stop once more, clenching his teeth at the unfamiliar stretch.

Ziva felt like screaming. All her nerves were on fire, sending a load of lustful information zigzagging through her system, making it hard, unbearably hard to hold back. If it weren't Tim, if it weren't his first time, hell, if she was in actual charge, she'd have him fucked into oblivion already. She needed it. Wanted it so badly.

Finally, Tony was all the way inside, _finally,_ he started moving, still slowly, but she could see his control fading by the second. His moan could have been Tim's name, or not a word at all, but Tim answered it with an amazed sound of pleasure that mixed with only the tiniest hint of discomfort, a sound so beautiful in itself that Ziva wanted to take it right from his mouth, send it vibrating through every fiber of her physical and emotional self. She stole the next moan from his lips, hungrily. Tim broke away from her, breathless, so fully out of his mind that she thought he might never recover, wrecked before Tony even started to really fuck him, and still, Tim managed to meet his rhythm, moving in perfect unison with Tony's thrusts.

Ziva barely realized she was fingering herself while she watched; at some point between pinching her nipples and sucking at Tim's neck, she had lost every sense of reality, resurfacing only when Tony's hand met her own in her lap, their fingers brushing together inside her for a too short moment.

“Better get going,” he rasped out through clenched teeth. Looking up at him, all sweaty and beautifully drunk with sex, she remembered.

“You are not allowed to come yet.” What was meant to be stern sounded like a plea.

Tony nodded, grimly. “Trying. Just hurry.”

Groaning, Ziva struggled free. She caught a glance of Tony grabbing Tim's cock and stroking him along with his rhythm, saw Tim arch his back and bury his head so deep in the pillow that he could as well have aimed for suffocation, then her body agreed to move.

The toy drawer was only a few steps away, but Ziva's legs almost refused to carry her there. Harness up on top. Quick decision on the dildo. It really didn't matter to her. She simply could not bring herself to be all too thoughtful anymore. Usually, she made quite a ceremony out of preparing, but then again, usually it was just Tony and she.

Staggering back, Ziva found the image still basically the same, only that Tony was bent over, kissing the nape of Tim's neck, fucking him at an angle that guaranteed deep penetration. Judged by the way Tim was cussing a sailor out off his pants, it still wasn't sufficient. Ziva wondered when Tim had morphed into a cock-whore, and if she'd even been around when it happened. He didn't look the least bit like a first-timer anymore. To think she wasn't the one who got him there was a bitter one to swallow down.

Ziva stilled Tony, guided his hips back until he almost slipped out of Tim completely, and the younger man impulsively tried to follow, but Tony held him down with a sweaty palm.

“Patience, Probie-Wan.”

“Please, fucking please, God, Tony, _please!"_

“We will get you there,” Ziva promised as she quickly lubed Tony up, single-mindedly, impatient. “We will get you right there, I promise,” and then she pushed in, was satisfied at the mighty groan that escaped Tony's open mouth and the way he tossed his head back, and the familiar wave of absolute power crashed over her, sweeping through her until her every synapse was fired up with the intoxication. Ziva's world narrowed down to the simple act of fucking Tony, of how he uttered a flood of “fucks,” and, vaguely, how Tim fought for support as the movement was passed on to him.

“Back up here, boy,” Tony snickered just before the next, deep thrust blew his mind.

How Tim managed to steady himself would remain a miracle, but he did. Then, he started pushing back, and there was nothing in the world Tony could do but to let go, let himself be thoroughly fucked, both ways and everything. There was no more giving left on his side, not exactly, anyway.

Ziva jerked his head back a little too rough. “Do you like that, bitch?”

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

“Tell me.”

“I love it when you fuck me. When you fuck my brains out.”

“Sounds simple,” Tim teased, but his voice turned into a whimper when Tony slapped him on the ass in response.

“Says the man whose mind is doing the limbo with his anal virginity.”

Ziva laughed out, throaty and almost a bit derisive. She couldn't stop even though she noticed how Tim blushed hard. “Are you good down there?” she asked through the chuckling.

“I'm all sunshine.”

“Tony, why don't you tell him how nice he feels?” Ziva sounded almost casual, if not for a sharp, spiking edge to her voice that revealed how turned on she really was.

Tony smiled. By God, he loved all of this, loved it to pieces.

“You're amazing, Tim,” he started rambling, not even wasting the tiniest spark of his leftover energy on thinking. He let himself be rocked back and forth, digging his hands in Tim's hips, although in a corner of his mind, he knew it must be getting a little too rough for his poor Probie.

“I love how you fuck me back, how you take me in so deep. Like a pro.” He laughed, but it wasn't mocking at all. Tim grunted his acknowledgement of the compliment.

“You feel so good,” Tony continued, “warm and tight and you're so sweet, you look so sweet . . . You're beautiful, Tim. You're fucking beautiful, and I fucking . . .” He drowned the rest of the sentence in a long-drawn moan.

“What?” Tim asked softly. “Fucking what?”

“Fucking don't know how I'm supposed to last any longer.”

“You need to come?” Ziva asked, adding, “Either of you?”

Tim shook his head, “Not yet, pretty close,” but Tony just growled, and she understood. She sat back, pulled him with her, and both men uttered protest when he slid out of Tim. Yet, Tim slumped down, panting so hard that the other two suddenly realized how wrecked he really was, despite his commitment to their lead.

“It is okay. Calm down a little,” Ziva told him, but in typical McGee-stubbornness (and he must have Irish ancestors, no doubt about that), he shook his head and maneuvered himself to lie on his back and face them.

“More,” he moaned out, sweaty and half-broken, so young, so adorable.

Ziva hesitated—and Tony taking matters into his own hands and fucking himself on the strap-on wasn't helping anything—then she nodded swiftly. She jerked her hips forward, at the same time pulling Tony back by his waist, and the effect was a voiceless cry, utter pleasure, almost sending him over the edge, but not yet.

She wanted him there. And, likewise, she was thrilled they hadn't wasted Tim once more; she was ready for her own big fireworks, and she wanted Tim to set them off.

“Get rid of that condom, will you?” she breathed into Tony's ear.

“What, I thought I'd get a face-to-face reunion with McSexy here?”

“I'm sore enough for one day.”

“You complainin'?”

“Loved it.” Tim looked sincere, despite the deep shade of pink that colored his face.

Tony growled in response to another very deep thrust Ziva delivered. “Close one,” he announced.

“Condom,” she countered. “I want you to come on him.”

It got Tony complying in a heartbeat.

“I want to . . . I wanna taste him . . . please?” Tim asked shyly, making Tony snicker.

“Won't take a second.”

It wouldn't. No secret. Yet, Tim moved closer, licking his lips, and Tony's eyes crossed with the unbearable need to finally fucking get there, no matter what.

“Don't swallow. Share,” Ziva demanded, just in time, for with the simultaneous hotness around his cock and hardness in his ass, Tony lost it. Tim grimaced at the taste, but he managed not to choke, and to keep most of the come from leaking out his mouth.

Tony kept himself upright through Ziva pulling out of him, but then he sank eye-level with Tim and kissed him, licking, sucking his own cum out of this soft, devoted mouth. Tim kissed him back, ferociously, happily feeding him without wasting any thought on the disgust that would have befallen him if it were—well, if it were not Tony. If it were not the three of them.

As soon as she'd unstrapped the harness, Ziva joined them, licking her way up the trace of semen that had wound up tripping down Tim's chin. They shared another three-way kiss until Tony had to break it; he needed to catch a breath, needed to finally be swept away, and he retreated.

“How much longer?” Ziva asked against Tim's lips.

“Not much.”

“Fuck me,” she demanded, pushing him flat onto his back.

“I don't—” Tim started, but how could he deny her, how could anyone deny Ziva David whatever she demanded?

Tony stared at her, unbelieving, but she stole a kiss, and she even brought herself to breathe out an almost begging, “Please,” and like Tim, he couldn't help himself from knuckling under.

He felt around for the earlier dismissed condom—was that really today?—and handed it to her when he found it.

Tim squeezed his eyes closed. “Ziva, I really don't think—”

“Yes you can,” she insisted. She wouldn't need much. This wasn't about being fucked. It was all about having her wish.

Tim bucked up into Ziva's touch as she rolled the condom on him, gritting his teeth, thinking of everything he might find unsexy, but he knew, he just knew it was a lost battle. And still, he let her straddle him, take him in deep. He moaned out her name, positively going insane at her wet hot tightness.

“I can't—” he started once again, and then they were moving, rolling to the side, and he slipped out of her; she pulled him along until he was over her, and guided him back inside.

“Make me come,” Ziva demanded, and, closing his eyes, Tim thrust into her hard, recalling how she liked it best. 

However much he tried, Tim could not possibly endure this very long. He came way too soon, would have felt endlessly embarrassed if he'd not come once before and had been kept close this second time for what seemed like hours. He bit back every sound, but of course Ziva felt it; there was no use in hiding. Tim kept going, bravely, and was rewarded only a moment later. She tensed around him, cried out, and he kissed her, pulling Tony in to join them, all three of them sated to the fullest.


	4. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's hard to see further than your own fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick non-porn aftermath-/epilogue-/round up (but not) chapter. Enjoy ;-)

The first thing Tim noticed when he woke up was the lack of body warmth. He cracked his eyes open. He was alone.

Rolling onto his back was a horrible decision. His body ached so completely that he was sure to have been run over by a truck. Twice. He snorted. The comparison was odd, yet not exactly wrong.

“Must work out more,” he groaned as every muscle screamed protest when he stretched. From inside the bathroom, he could hear the sound of running water, mixing with muffled voices and hushed laughter. 

It wasn't the blow of realization that made Tim drag himself out of bed and get dressed. It wasn't shame that made him leave quietly. He wasn't ashamed about the fucking. Not exactly, anyway. He'd consented, he was a grown man, making his own decisions, taking full responsibility of his actions.

It was the very sudden clenching of his heart at the feeling that he was nothing more than a breathing, moving sex toy for them.

By the time he was home, the sting of disappointment had transformed into a gaping wound, and Tim didn't know how to stop it from bleeding. He felt stupid, humiliated, bent and broken. Regardless the fact that he'd never flown higher before than last night, he sincerely wished he could turn back time and walk away unharmed.

~ ~ ~

Gibbs swept though the squad room like a minor hurricane. “Ducky found semen.”

“Ugh, who would want to screw around in autopsy?”

Tony took the headslap with as much dignity as he owned.

“On Cooper,” Gibbs clarified.

Tim's head shot up, a half-frown plastered onto his face. He winced but slightly. “Lieutenant Cooper was . . . raped?”

“Nope. Just having sex. With a guy. Got a feeling about who. Ziva, you're with me for the wife.” Gibbs pointed back over his shoulder, already halfway at the elevator. “You two get Reyes in.”

“Boss . . .”

“Any problems, McGee?”

“No. It's just I'd rather—”

“You a homophobe now?”

The other two owned enough decency to not smirk right in Tim's face.

~ ~ ~

The ride was awkwardly silent. Tony despised it. Two days later, and Tim still refused to behave like his usual self. It was wrong to bottle up such confusion. Damn it, it was unhealthy. He knew from experience.

Fifteen minutes into their trip, he pulled over at a gas station. 

“What are you up to?”

“We need gas.”

Tim glanced at the fuel gage. “Is that so?” He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I'm not in a chatty mood, Tony, so save us some time and just keep driving.”

“Oh, McShame.”

“I am not ashamed.”

“Of course not. McAvoiding.”

“And I don't avoid anything,” Tim snapped. His hands started fumbling with the hem of his shirt without his realization. “I just don't want to talk about it right now, okay? That is not avoidance.”

Tony gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah, that's why you're not looking at me. At all. I can't even remember your eye color. You still do have those pretty eyes of yours, though, don't you?”

He couldn't tell whether Tim blushed because of the compliment or if he got him angry. Tim's mouth opened without producing a single sound, and he closed it again, clenching his jaw in a typically stubborn McGee way. Tony found it cute, but alas, this wasn't exactly the right time for being smitten.

“If you don't wanna talk, that's fine by me.” Carefully, as if he was afraid to hurt him, Tony touched Tim's shoulder, unsurprised that the younger man jerked away immediately, yet a little astounded at the intensity of his reaction.

“Just listen, then,” Tony said softly, not letting Tim escape him. “I know this can be confusing. I've been there, Tim. And guess what, you're not the only one who tries to find his place in this arrangement. We're all struggling. Can't get anywhere by ourselves, though.”

Tim looked miserable and remained silent.

“I don't want to end up like Cooper. Hell, I don't want any of us to end up like that just because of a triangle affair gone out of hand. So, if nothing else, tell me we're good. Tell me we can fix this somehow, some time.”

“We're good,” Tim barely whispered.

It was far from convincing, but it was a start. “Okay. Can I hope for more right now?”

Tim shook his head. His bottom lip quivered as though he either held back words or tears. Both were possible, but Tony hoped it wasn't the latter. He was really, really bad with tears. Unless they were caused by utter joy or sheer pleasure.

“Well, you're still in this car with me. That's more than I expected.”

“We're good,” Tim repeated, his eyes fixed on some distant point. But at least, his voice was level.

They didn't talk again outside the job until the case was wrapped up. Mrs. Reyes confessed to the murder of Lieutenant Cooper, explaining, very calmly, that she could live with the fact her husband was sleeping with men, but not with her lover doing the same. It was weird and disturbing.

That night after work, Tim asked Tony if he would give him a ride home. He stood very upright, looking straight up, insecurity written over his face.

“But of course, my McPretty Eyes.”

Tony was relieved to see Tim flash a grin.

~ ~ ~

“What did he say?”

“Nothing much, Ziva.”

“He spent all night at your place and did not say anything of importance? What on earth where you—oh. Oh!” She clicked her tongue.

“Nope.”

“But of course.”

“No, Ziva.”

“There is nothing wrong with it. I am not offended.”

Tony sighed. He was tired, and his mind was rolling. He doubted Ziva would understand. He wasn't even sure he understood fully. He remembered Tim's tension, a third person with them, and how long it had taken him to speak at all. How the words had stuttered, then started to loop, without making much sense in the beginning.

Ziva rose to stand by the window. The last rays of the setting sun illuminated her face. “I do not own either of you, Tony, nor do you own me. I never assumed that much. It was never meant to be more than . . .” She shrugged, lacking the exact word.

_I thought it was fun, but then I crashed. I crashed so hard, and it hurts, and I don't know how to heal._

“He is afraid, Ziva.”

“Of what?”

_Don't tell her. I don't . . . I couldn't ever look at her again if she . . ._

“Many things,” he said vaguely. “The most? That he's but a toy for us.”

“I thought that we were all just—” she waved her hand, “—toys for each other.”

“Even though you knew I was jealous? Even when I asked you not to sleep with him?”

Ziva shifted, looking down, remaining silent.

The wish to shake her, shout some sense into her, came suddenly and fierce. Tony clenched his fists to keep his anger at bay, focusing on breathing steadily, not to let the wrong kind of emotions take over the reins.

The eternity it took Ziva to speak seemed almost doom-laden.

“I wanted to believe you were in love with me. Maybe you even were, at some point. And I had a crush on you.” Ziva turned around to meet his eyes. Her expression bore a spark of defiance. “In allowing Tim in, I thought I found a way to keep control over my own feelings. That if I shared you, in which way ever, I would need you less. Instead, I started needing him as well.” She laughed, a bitter, leaden sound. “Watching you together was beautiful, and yet I felt like dying. I felt . . . unfitting. I did not realize it then, but I understand it now. It hurts, but I understand.”

Tony remained silent, Ziva's words spinning so fast in his mind that he felt dizzy. He hunched his shoulders, burying his face in his hands, all prior emotions wiped out at once. If that was where they were stranded, it was a hell of a lucky coincidence they were even talking still.

“I am sorry that it all must come to this. That I closed my eyes to it and let it happen when I should have known better.”

“What do you want, Ziva?” Tony's voice cracked, was choked from the weight of two confessions within the same day, two people crashing and colliding, dragging him along.

“I do not know.”

_What do you want, Tim?_

_I . . . want to belong. I only want to belong._

Tony shook his head, equally chasing away Tim's hopeless face and negating Ziva's attempt at another round of hide and seek. “You do know. I need you to tell me.”

“What does it matter to you, Tony?”

He forced himself to look at her. Nothing more than that, but his eyes must have delivered her what she needed.

“I want to belong.”

“Don't we all?”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **Rounds of Kink** Round 22. Prompt [It was complicated, but it worked for them.] and kinks [D/s, pegging, dp, voyeurism.] submitted by  dizilla.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful **Moit** , who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


End file.
